


A Sinner Worships

by KidBrontok



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Body Worship, Credence Barebone Crying During Sex, Credence is a precious cinnamon roll, Gentle Sex, M/M, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Protective Original Percival Graves, Religious Cults, Size Difference, Size Kink, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23396896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KidBrontok/pseuds/KidBrontok
Summary: Percival was a thief, but then he met Credence. Each sound from the boy's lips, each drop of sweat, the taste of his skin and spend, the darkness of his hair and eyes ‒ every single one and more so a reason for a sinner like Percival to repent.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 5
Kudos: 142





	A Sinner Worships

**Author's Note:**

> This story has switching POVs. Text in italics are flashbacks.

The chants drone on and on, and Credence fights to sit still. He feels almost faint in the heat, his robes not doing anything to stop the sweat dripping down his back. It doesn't help that the incense smells oppressively strong, and what little air comes from outside the temple can’t seem to reach him. He has half the mind to throw open the sheer curtain separating him from the people, but he stops himself. It will make the priests mad, and it wouldn’t do a lot of good.

He knows he just has to endure a few minutes more, but he feels guilty all the same for counting the seconds. Supplicants have traveled from faraway places, stood in line under the blazing sun, and waited hours with nothing more than the hope that they will have an audience with him.

His heart hurts from listening to their stories, their worries and their ills, their prayers and petitions. He has been told to shield his heart, but he always finds it difficult to do so when the people prostrate themselves before him and offer their last treasured possessions in exchange for a blessing. Right now, his heart hurts even worse than the way his head throbs from the heat.

A rustling sound behind him lifts him from stupor, a gentle hand landing on his back.

_Percival_. It’s enough to ease the tension in Credence's shoulders.

Eventually, the last of the pilgrims leave. The head priest whips around from the doorway and stalks toward him with a sour face.

“What did I tell you about sitting still?!” Mary Lou, deceptively stoic in her black robes, hisses at him.

That voice, even after all these years, still doesn’t fail to unnerve him. His foster mother, who raised him and has since built him up to be this… this _curio_ in a temple, after his gifts manifested ‒ she knows the hold she has on him even as the people have put him on a pedestal.

But before he can get his tongue unstuck to say something, Percival intervenes.

“The other priests are waiting on you, Priestess. They have collected today’s tidings.”

The man is as calm as ever, his voice firm even with his head humbly bowed.

Mary Lou turns to regard him stonily. Credence feels his pulse pick up as she stares down at Percival, fearing for him, but the man bears the scrutiny bravely.

“Very well,” Mary Lou acquiesces after a pause. “We shall begin the trek to town,” she adds, but her eyes narrow as she returns her stare to Credence.

“You, make sure to work on your concentration. The people are not paying to come here to see you daydreaming.”

The rebuke doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, not when Percival has just saved him from harsher words.

He quietly says yes and waits for the telltale sound of the heavy temple doors closing, the priests’ footsteps sounding more distant as they haul the offerings down to town.

The hand on his back moves to lift the sweaty hair sticking to his neck. “Let’s get you out of these robes, Credence.”

\---

Credence has lived in the temple for the many years since his gifts manifested. He doesn't remember much of what happened back then, except that he was scared of what his foster mother would do if she found out.

However, he wasn’t expecting it when she gathered the townsfolk and made him show them what he could do ‒ for a few coins. She weaved a tale about a vision in which the gods gifted her this boy to raise, a boy borne of magic. She recruited the neighbors to form a congregation, so they could spread the word about the boy and his gifts.

And spread, it did. Now, people from far away travel to his obscure town to see him. They built him this temple, this gilded prison on top of a hill, and he has lived here alone since.

Except... three years ago, he met Percival.

_Percival was a vagabond who one day hears of this boy borne of magic. He sets on his way to that distant land to sate his unexpected curiosity, and maybe liberate some coins from the fools who believe in such things. He sees the long line of people going up to the temple and steals his way through them, winding up at the front near the doors._

_The commotion of people finding their purses suddenly light helps him enter the temple past the distracted priests. He spots the coffers filled with coins and the heaps of flowers, food and trinkets made in offering, so he quickly moves toward them. He’s stuffing handfuls of silver and pieces of bread into his satchel, not mindful of anything else but that promise of a good life, when he hears a noise._

_There, at the end of the room, a pale hand parting the curtains reveals the loveliest creature he has ever seen. A pair of dark eyes, widened in shock, roots him in place until the priests become aware of the intruder and hail fists upon him. At the time, he had not felt the need to fear this violent reprisal in the hands of the priests and the townsfolk – if only for the blessing of laying his sinful eyes on something as divine as that beautiful boy. But then a soft voice, a soothing balm to his aching body, tells the people to stop._

It’s been three years since Percival began to live with him. There must be something about the man that made Credence bold back then, to step out from the safety of the altar and plead with the people not to hurt him. His foster mother was furious, but she couldn’t say a word for fear of the impression people may have of a supposedly pious priest.

The others, stricken as they were with the sight of Credence’s bare feet on the cold and dirty floor, heeded his wishes. Percival had held and kissed his feet then, delicate-looking in his rough hands, and asked for forgiveness. He hasn’t left in the years since, repaying Credence’s mercy as a loyal servant.

Mary Lou hasn’t stopped trying behind closed doors to cast the man out, but the congregation was smitten with the idea of a criminal repenting and converting into a believer. They overruled the head priest, a move that perhaps does not bode well for Mary Lou’s continued standing, and appointed Percival as caretaker ‒ both of the temple and the boy.

\---

In the quiet of the bath, Percival washes Credence. He uses a soft cloth to wipe away all traces of sweat from the day, the soapy water running down his smooth skin. Credence obediently sits in the tub, his head resting on his knees, his back and neck exposed to the man’s ministrations.

A calloused hand follows in the path of the cloth, finding its way into his curls, combing through dark strands and massaging his scalp, before cupping his nape with a soft pressure.

He can’t stop the sound he makes when Percival does this. He can’t control the way he reacts, his skin flushing pink, just as the man can’t seem to resist placing a kiss on his head.

“I want to see you, sweet boy.”

Credence uncurls from his position, a quiet thrill blooming in his chest. No one has ever touched him like this before. The priests and the faithful all keep a respectful distance, all too awed or perhaps afraid to give even an innocent touch. Only the most desperate deign to try, and sometimes those who want to hurt him, too.

But never this gentle touch, this loving caress. Percival’s low voice close to his ear, murmuring praises and assurances, calling him pretty names. A kiss on his cheek, another on his brow. He spreads his legs at the man’s urging, biting his lip to keep from voicing his shame.

Percival has told him before, there is nothing to be ashamed of. The years of living alone in the temple, isolated but pampered, has made Credence quite pale. His sensitive skin is quick to bruise, his body lean and breakable. But the man calls him precious, a jewel to be treasured. He’d rub scented oils onto Credence’s skin, knead at legs numbed from sitting still too long, kiss and lick at the tiniest of scrapes after another supplicant has gone too rough with desperation.

It’s these that help Credence endure the public hours at the temple, knowing that at the end of the day, he has Percival’s touch to look forward to.

\---

Percival carefully swipes the cloth over the boy’s cock. It fills with blood before him as those creamy thighs tremble, bitten-off gasps reaching his ears. His free hand scoops some water to pour over a narrow chest, the boy’s nipples pebbling as his palm brushes against them.

This boy… he truly must be a gift of the gods. Some talk among the townsfolk have reached him over the years. He knows about the foster mother, the head priest Mary Lou. He knows about the backstory, the feats of magic and miracle. He’s had some doubts, but he knows for sure the boy is truly borne of magic.

He has seen it before his very eyes, when Credence reaches out to a beggar with sores and heals them, when he conjures things out of thin air, when he makes it rain to help with the town’s crops, when his eyes burn white and black smoke seethes from his pores during a trance, when he moves objects with his mind.

He knows, too, that the boy’s gifts have a limit, although the congregation tries its best to suppress such talk. But what Credence has to make up for those limitations is empathy. He listens to each petition, each confession, and he takes them to heart and strives to help with such heartfelt sincerity, that it fills Percival with worry that the boy will get hurt.

It’s truly a pity that Mary Lou, _the wretched woman_ , treats Credence with such carelessness, like a rare commodity to be locked in a temple but then paraded to the masses for profit. And what a true miracle the boy has performed on him, Percival thinks, to make him scoff at the idea of profit! Credence has well and truly converted him, indeed.

Nevertheless, Percival takes his role as caretaker seriously.

He strokes his hand with the cloth up and down the boy’s cock. It’s a beautiful thing, as beautiful as the body it’s attached to. He peels off Credence’s fingers from the lip of the tub with his other hand and brings them to his own lips, and the boy shoots him a flushed look from beneath dark lashes. He strokes the pretty cock until those dark eyes flutter shut and the boy finally whines in release.

Percival kisses plush lips as he sets aside the cloth. He drains the tub and replaces the water to wash off the soap and cum, then he helps Credence up to be smothered in soft towels for drying. The boy looks exhausted, his head lolling against his shoulder as Percival helps him toward the bed.

Credence falls onto the mattress, naked, his lean body on display. Percival’s eyes trace the delicate line of his spine, down to the plump curves of his bottom, down to the budding muscles on his calves, down to the pink soles of his feet. The boy mutters something to the pillows and turns his head to the side, one eye half open looking back at him.

“What’s that, darling?”

He steps closer to the bed, his hand combing some of those damp, dark locks back so he can see the eye better. He gets to see the boy blushing too, as a bonus.

“Can you… can we do that thing we did last night?” Credence shyly whispers.

Percival’s cock, already hard from giving Credence a bath, stiffens even further. A flash of the night before crosses his mind, this perfect boy beneath him, red from crying but clinging to him. Shy kisses on his neck and a tight heat around his cock.

His hand strays down to the boy’s bottom, squeezing a pale cheek and his thumb parting the way to reveal that treasured entrance.

Credence squirms as he feels the man’s stare. He doesn’t know what _it_ looks like, after… after last night. It must look terrible, for Percival to stare too long.

He feels his face heat as he unintentionally clenches down, conscious of the attention on his body and remembering how uncomfortable it was to sit all day. But then his face heats further as he recalls how it felt when Percival entered him.

_It hurt at first, and then it was wonderful._

_Their faces were close, their eyes locked together. Percival’s member is thick and long, and Credence had thought it was too big. But the man made it fit, pushed in another inch with each thrust until there was no space between their bodies. The stretch almost made Credence feel overwhelmed, but soon the man nudged against something inside him that made him see stars, made his hips roll to meet each thrust, made their movements harried and hurried._

_He wanted to close his eyes but couldn’t, as Percival stared back at him looking awed and worshipful. They looked at each other and moved against each other, until the man grunted and covered his lips in a rough kiss, devouring the sounds he made as he felt a burst of wet against his insides, his own spend painting their bellies._

He feels Percival’s thumb rub against his hole, oil soothing and slicking the sensitive skin. Credence buries his face in the pillows, his hands grasping the sheets. He feels kisses down his back, lips and tongue and a hint of teeth, as that thumb presses in.

He tries to muffle his shameful cries ‒ for surely they must be shameful with how desperate they sound to his own ears ‒ but he can’t stop himself. He lets out a whimper when Percival’s thumb retreats and is replaced with two fingers.

“Feels good, sweetheart?”

Credence can only gasp when the man crooks his fingers and rubs against that secret place inside him. The first time he learned of it, when Percival first put his fingers in him, made him feel a strange mix of shame and amazement. How could his body ‒ cursed that he is ‒ be capable of such sweet ecstasy? He was told all his life it was an abomination for two men to have intimate relations. But this feeling, with a man like Percival piercing him with his flesh, and his own singing in pleasure from this kind of intrusion… it feels like a blessing.

\---

Percival can’t see Credence’s face, but he can feel the boy nearing his release. He drapes himself over the smaller form below him, gives a soft kiss at the nape of his neck, and pulls his fingers out.

He is a cad, he knows that. Or, he _was_. But then he met this magical boy, Credence’s innocence and purity such a stark contrast to the women and men he has bedded before. Each sound from his lips, each drop of sweat, the taste of his skin and spend, the darkness of his hair and eyes ‒ every single one and more so a reason for a cad and thief like him to repent.

As the days go by, he finds himself growing more devout, but not for whatever unnamed and unseen god the ordinary people believe in. He doesn’t believe in any god, but he worships this boy right here with all that he has.

And he wonders every day what he did in a past life to deserve this, an incredible elation as he enters the boy. Credence clenches around his cock, but he feels the boy make an effort to relax, to accept his ardor as he accepted the man into the temple.

Percival gifts his sweet Credence another kiss, his lips landing on an upturned cheek salty with tears. He wraps an arm around the trembling shoulders, the other bracing against the mattress to avoid crushing the delicate boy. His groin joins flush with that soft bottom, his cock buried deep and deeper, barely leaving the boy’s tight heat as he begins to thrust.

His chest presses onto the boy’s back, and he imagines the other can feel his heartbeat pounding just as he feels the boy’s heart against his palm.

It’s a slow torture, holding off his own release and his animal instinct to take, take, take. Credence has to reach his peak first, if only so he could see and hear and feel the boy’s pleasure. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to see those pink lips part on a moan, thick lashes fanned over flushed cheeks, pale skin glistening against the shadows in the room, the almost unbearable hold around his questing cock.

It’s certain to trigger his own release, and the moment the boy keens and mewls underneath him and desperately calls his name, Percival reaches his own peak.

His eyes roll up his head, his cock pulses and paints the boy’s insides with his cum, his bracing arm gives and his body pushes Credence further against the bed. He hears his own hoarse voice whisper, _Mine!_

It must be hours before he returns to his senses. He feels his softening cock still lodged inside Credence's hole, so he carefully retreats and shushes the boy, who lets out a low whine at the loss.

He checks for tearing and finds none. He checks because sometimes the evil in him rears its ugly head, and the boy is more precious than anything the former thief has stolen before.

“Is it‒” Credence whispers in the quiet. “Does it look okay?”

Percival kisses the boy’s entrance, reddened and twitching and leaking cum.

“It’s beautiful.”

He licks the sensitive flesh and moves up the bed to rain more kisses on Credence’s skin, a shoulder, an ear, an eyelid, his hair. He retrieves a damp towel and begins the arduous process of removing the traces of their lovemaking. He rubs soothing cream onto the boy’s hole with a careful thumb, another cream for finger-shaped bruises.

Save for a soft hiss earlier, Credence lays calm and boneless on his stomach until eventually his breathing slows.

Percival smiles to himself. In the beginning, the boy was beset with night terrors and sleeplessness. Now, he easily falls into slumber, naked and serene with his most loyal servant at his feet.

Later, he’ll dress the boy in a nightgown and tuck him under the sheets, the softest of pillows under his head. He’ll kiss the boy’s fingertips, his wrists, his toes, the arch of his feet, before he has to stop himself and allow the boy to rest. He’ll move his own cot closer and lay down facing the bed, a hand outstretched to caress the boy’s ankle.

Later, he’ll fall asleep to the thought of repentance and salvation. He’ll dream of the boy’s lips and bare feet, a soft voice calling his name. Much later, he’ll wake up and make love to him again, make Credence moan again.

For now, though, Percival will worship.

-END-


End file.
